


Ride Along

by BartonStark (BloodEnvy)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, F/M, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Heavy Petting, Kissing, Touching, Touchy-Feely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:41:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27654962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BartonStark
Summary: Based on the prompt: "Move Over".After a night out on the town, you reluctantly agree to sit on Clint’s lap on the long ride back out to the Avengers Compound when the Uber booked doesn’t have enough seats.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Original Character(s), Clint Barton/Original Female Character(s), Clint Barton/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	Ride Along

You stumbled slightly as you followed the others out of the bar, a giddy smile on your lips and your arm hooked securely in Natasha’s. She bumped her hip against yours as a couple of men gave the two of you appraising looks as they passed by you, tucking wayward fiery curls behind her ear as the cool night air threatened to dishevel it. She took your stumble in stride despite the impressive height of her heels, smiling indulgently as you laughed, a little too loudly thanks to the booze in your system. Her smirk widened as Clint turned around and fixed you both with a goofy, endearing smile of his own as you all headed for the sidewalk.

“You’re going to trip over if you keep walking like that,” Nat warned him lightheartedly, nodding down at his backwards gait. She had a point; even if he was one of the most impressive secret agents in the world, and you’d seen him pull off some pretty incredible stunts in your time with the Avengers, he wasn’t exactly the most graceful person in the world. Especially after a night of drinking. Even now, you watched his foot catch awkwardly on the pavement, and he barely managed to right himself before falling. “And you’ll be picking yourself up off the pavement when you do, Barton.”

His jaw drooped in offense, and you giggled, shaking your head. “Don’t worry, Hawkguy. If you totally eat it between here and the sidewalk, I promise I won’t leave you behind.”

The archer broke into a wide, crooked grin at that, stepping towards you and forcing his way between you and Nat as he turned around. She gave you up without argument, and he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. You tripped slightly as the movement unbalanced you, and he tightened his grip on your arm with a drunken laugh.

The sudden warmth of his body against yours compared to the cool air of late fall made a shiver dance up your spine, and you leaned into him despite yourself. He tugged you closer as you did, rubbing his hand up and down your bare bicep. “See that. Romanoff? That’s real friendship.”

“Don’t get too cocky, Clint.” you teased. “You get blood on this dress and I leave you in the dust.”

“And I’d deserve it,” he told you, surprisingly serious, eyes travelling down your body. You were wearing a glittery black dress that barely brushed your midthigh and flattered the curve of your waist and breasts. It sparkled under the headlights of passing traffic and had cost you a significant chunk of your paycheck. “Damn thing is a work of art.”

Your body tingled under his gaze, and you tried to ignore it. The two of you often blurred the lines between friendship and flirtation, and while you were sure it was meaningless on his part, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your belly at his appraisal.

“Don’t think I won’t remember that next time you need me to save your ass.” Natasha interjected snidely, easily side-stepping the playful swat he aimed her way. While you and Clint were giddy and occasionally faltering over your words, the only affect the alcohol seemed to have on Nat was a permanent smile and a quicker laugh. She nodded to the stairs ahead of you. “Just be warned, Y/N. He’s a pain in the ass with a concussion.”

“He’s a pain in the ass all the time,” you responded easily, your tone sweet as you wrapped your arm around Clint’s waist. The leather of his jacket was buttery soft under your frigid hand, and you resisted the urge to move it aside so you could curl your fingers in the hem of his shirt instead, to feel the heat of his skin against the back of your hand.

Clint, oblivious to your musings, scoffed obnoxiously in protest. “Oh, c’mon. You know you love me.”

“Is that what this feeling is?” you replied teasingly, looking up at him. “I always thought it was mild annoyance.”

Nat chuckled. “With Barton the two often go hand in hand.”

“How dare you, Romanoff.”

“Thank God we’re so patient with him,” you continued, laughing as he pinched your arm. “Ow!”

“Don’t think I won’t remember that when you want breakfast in the morning.” he warned you even as he squeezed you by way of apology.

“Since when do you _ever_ make me breakfast, Barton?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I was going to start tomorrow.”

“Pouring the rocket fuel you call coffee into a mug isn’t exactly ‘making breakfast’,” you pointed out with a smirk. You felt him bump his cheek against the top of your head softly. When Fury had first recruited you to the Avengers Initiative, there had been a concern over your young age – at twenty-five, you were the youngest member by far – but your abilities in the field had proven you too valuable to bench. Clint had been your first friend among your teammates, and the two of you had bonded quickly over Dog Cops and bad jokes.

You’d learned almost immediately after moving into the Tower, however, that the man was not a morning person. Unless work called for it, you rarely saw him before eleven a.m. The few times you did, it was usually because he’d drag himself, bleary-eyed, out of bad to steal half of whatever he could smell you cooking for breakfast. Now, you just made enough for two. He’d shower afterwards, then he’d return with still-dripping hair to bug you into spending the day with him. Which you were always happy to do.

“Okay, so maybe I was going to warm up some leftover pizza.”

“Gee, I’m flattered.”

“You should be,” he shot back. “I got the stuffed crust from Louie’s.”

“Pancakes, Clint.” you said with a smile as you pulled away from him, turning to face him as you came to a stop beside Rhodey on the curb. You lost your balance slightly as you turned, and Clint caught your waist to steady you. “If you want me to be impressed, you’re gonna need to make me pancakes. Or eggs. Something that required an appliance other than a microwave.”

“And by ‘impressed’, she means ‘functional’,” Natasha interjected, amused, and you pursed your lips to stop yourself from smiling in response. Her own smile widened in response; she knew she was right. You were almost as bad as Clint in the mornings when you were hungover, a fact she was well aware of.

Sam raised an eyebrow at the three of you, nodding to your outfit. “If I dress like that, will Barton make me breakfast, too?”

The archer stepped closer to you so he could reach past you and pat the side of Sam’s face mockingly. “Only if you put out first, Wilson.”

“Don’t listen to him, Sammy.” you said, trapped between the two of them. Your tone was light, joking, and half the reason you’d spoken was to distract yourself from the warmth in your cheeks at having Clint standing so close to you. The other half was to cut Sam off before he could ask if you had to do the same to score a free meal from the archer. Your admittedly flirtatious friendship with Clint never seemed to tire as a popular subject among the rest of the Avengers, despite your constant insistence that what you had between you was strictly platonic. A lie, but you weren’t about to admit otherwise. “You bat those pretty Maybelline lashes just right, and he’ll be bending over backwards for you.”

Sam coughed a laugh. “Now, there’s an image.”

“So, Barton,” Rhodey interjected, his expression a practiced balance of both entertainment and exasperation. It was one you were sure he’d perfected after spending years with Tony. “I gotta ask, man. Where’d you learn to count?”

Confused, you glanced over your shoulder at the hatchback waiting for you. A few members of the team were away on other commitments; Steve had somehow been convinced to travel to LA to film TV spots for public schools, and Tony was off on some jet-setting weekend getaway with Pepper. The rest of you had been left to your own devices at the compound, and with Wanda and Vision preoccupied with trying to get accustomed with their new lives, Sam had convinced the rest of you to come and blow off some steam in the city.

It was almost two thirty in the morning now, all of you breathless from dancing and pleasantly buzzed. But with Steve – your usual designated driver thanks to his super serum induced sobriety – unavailable, you were left with Uber as your way back out of the city.

“Uh, is that our ride?”

The driver waved enthusiastically at you from the driver’s seat window. “Your chariot awaits.”

“With only four seats,” Sam pointed out dryly. “What? You too cheap to spring for Uber XL?”

You turned back to Clint; your expression snide. “Who exactly did you forget to count?”

There was a long pause as he seemed to realize the dilemma, and he ducked his head and spoke to your shoes when he finally admitted: “Me.”

You laughed, bumping your forehead against his chest. “You’re an idiot.”

He grinned down at you, teeth touching his bottom lip. “I know.”

You shook your head, turning towards the others. “So, now what?”

Nat shrugged a shoulder elegantly, moving around to the roadside back door. She gave you a teasing, knowing smirk as she opened the door. “Looks like you’re sitting on Barton’s lap.”

You almost choked on your tongue, struggling to find your voice as Sam sniggered and Clint cleared his throat awkwardly. From the twitch in Natasha’s smile, you were sure he was silently communicating with her from behind you, but you didn’t turn around to check. You were suddenly very aware of him standing there, his chest just _barely_ brushing against your back as he breathed. “I— what?”

“Seems like the only reasonable option to me,” Sam added, struggling to maintain a straight face. Rhodey seemed to be pointedly avoiding your gaze, but you could see a smirk curling at the edge of his lips as he covered it with his hand.

“Oh, _does_ it, Wilson?” you said sarcastically, raising a brow and folding your arms across your chest. “ _You_ could sit on his lap. Earn that breakfast.”

He scoffed, and the driver spoke up again, giving Sam a lascivious look. “Oh, no, sweetness. He’s sitting up front with me. And don’t worry about the cops – giving the Avengers a ride is _so_ worth a fine if we get pulled over.”

Sam nodded slowly, slightly taken aback by the guy’s brazenness. He shrugged after a second, grinning widely at you as he moved to the passenger side door. “You heard the man. Besides, I don’t ride bitch.”

“We could just book another car, y’know.” you suggested lamely, even as Rhodey followed the others into the car. He graciously took the middle seat, and even with a wide backseat, you were certain it was going to be a squeeze. Meaning you were _really_ going to be on Clint’s lap. A nervous fluttering rose in your belly at the idea. The breeze picked up, and you shivered, cursing yourself silently for not bringing a coat. You wrapped your arms tighter around your middle. “Or, you could just… **move over**? We could all squeeze—”

“I’m starting to get a little insulted, Y/N.” Clint said behind you, his attempt at a whisper a little too loud thanks to the alcohol in his system. There was dry, self-deprecating amusement coloring his voice, and you felt your cheeks warm. You swallowed before you looked back at him over your shoulder. He was watching you with an eyebrow arched slightly, an almost-smirk on his lips. “I promise to behave myself if you do.”

You sighed dramatically, trying to ignore your pounding heart as you finally conceded. “Fine. But only because I’m freezing.”

Clint chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down your arms lightly as he steered you towards the car. His hands were surprisingly soft, his touch leaving sparks along your skin. “I’m flattered, sweets.”

“I’d apologize,” you said snidely as he climbed into the car. He made himself comfortable with some difficulty and buckled his seatbelt before he held a hand out to you. It might have been a gallant gesture if it weren’t for the sound of Sam snickering from the front seat. You took it with a roll of your eyes, your face hot as you situated yourself carefully on his lap. You sat an angle, half your back turned towards the window and the other pressed against his chest. Your legs were hooked awkwardly over his knee, squeezed between Rhodey’s leg and the front seat. Even with the relatively high ceiling of the hatchback, you had to duck to avoid hitting your head, the position pressing you against Clint’s body and bringing your face within a few inches of his. You avoided his gaze pointedly, eyes fixed on the windshield as Clint closed the door behind you. “But you’re basically getting a free lap dance out of this.”

Nat leaned forward to speak in Sam’s ear, and he laughed loudly. You leaned forward and punched him hard in the arm.

“Ow! The hell was that for?” he protested. “I didn’t say it!”

“Oh, please. Like I’m dumb enough to hit Nat.” you replied, and she winked at you as she settled back into her seat. “And if _any_ of you mention this to Stark, I _will_ kill you.”

Rhodey smirked at that, and Clint giggled behind you, still drunk and a little too loud. He shifted beneath you, his hips pressing up against your ass for a moment. You stiffened as he did, bravado lost at the feeling of him against you, and the hand on your hip did nothing to help your attempt at detachment. The feeling of it conjured images to your mind, of a much more deliberate thrust, that hand on your hip gliding around to dip between your legs…

The sound of the car starting brought you, face warm, back to reality, and without anywhere else to rest, Clint’s hands found your body. The hand not on your hip curled around your thigh, just above your knee. His skin was warm against yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into your bare flesh. His touch was surprisingly sure; the hand on your hip squeezing briefly in what you could have sworn was an almost possessive gesture. He pulled you back against him as the car suddenly lurched into traffic, your back meeting his chest again.

***

The others’ attention thankfully turned away from the two of you halfway out of the city – the driver, Cole, was busy interviewing Sam, and Nat was listening on in amusement. Rhodey had closed his eyes – you were certain that he was still awake but was exhausted from the late night. You got the impression that his nights out usually entailed a quiet drink, not the nightclub and dancing you’d all dragged him to. There was music playing low over the car’s stereo, and you felt Clint tap out the rhythm on your thigh with his fingers.

Sitting this close to him, _on top of him,_ was overwhelming, especially with your head still swirling pleasantly with the aftereffects of too many cocktails. You were so close to him you could feel him breathing, his chest rising and falling against your shoulder. You could smell whiskey and the scent of his cologne – cedar, oakmoss, and a hint of citrus – and the barest hint of sweat; it was intoxicating. Every time the car abruptly changed lanes or came to a stop, Clint would tighten his hold on you, his fingers bunching in the material of your dress.

You stiffened slightly as you felt Clint hook his chin over your shoulder, his breath pleasantly warm on the side of your neck. It sent a shiver down your spine, and he chuckled huskily in your ear as he felt it. “You okay there, Y/N?”

“Fine,” you lied, shrugging the shoulder pressed to his back. He’d never let you live it down if he realized what kind of effect he was having on you. The two of you often blurred the lines of conventional personal space between friends and coworkers, and you blamed the alcohol for just how much he was getting to you now.

Still, you couldn’t help the tiny whimper that fell from your lips as his hand left your leg to instead brush hair away from the side of your throat, fingertips grazing behind your ear. It was thankfully drowned out to the others by the radio, but the way Clint hummed in your ear told you that he had heard it. His hand trailed down your side, returning to your thigh, slightly higher than before.

“You sure?”

You nodded stubbornly. “I’m cold. I should have brought a jacket.”

Clint shook his head with a small groan, his nose bumping against the edge of your jaw. The sound made your breath catch, images of the two of you in a similar position with far less clothing flitting through your mind. You squeezed your thighs together, focusing your eyes on the dark outside. You’d finally made it out of the city, and you could now just barely make out the scenery zipping past.

“Covering up this dress would be a crime,” he murmured, his fingertips ghosting up over your thigh to touch the hem of it, rubbing the material between his fingers almost thoughtfully. It had ridden up when you’d sat down, his hand was now dangerously high on your leg. You swallowed; with his hand only a few inches from your sex, it was easy to imagine it travelling higher, pushing aside the lace of your underwear to roll his fingers over your clit before sliding two inside you. You squeezed your thighs together reflexively, wetting your lips carefully with your tongue and praying that you could keep your breathing steady. “’s so pretty, Y/N.”

You covered your hand with his, if only to discourage him from bringing it any higher. You curled your fingers around his hand, eyes falling to your lap to study the way his hand looked beneath yours.

“So, I’ve been told,” you replied wryly, just loud enough for him to hear you. The hand on your hip moved slowly down to the curve of your upper thigh, his palm resting against the side of your ass. The movement was almost faltering, uncertain, like he was waiting to see if you’d push him away. “What’cha doing there, Hawkeye?”

His nose grazed over the side of your neck down to the strap of your dress, his chin resting against your shoulder. When he spoke, you could feel his lips brushing against your skin. “Depends.”

His hand tightened briefly on your thigh before sliding down to the hem of your dress and teasing the skin, tracing tiny circles with his fingertips.

“On?”

You swore you could feel him smirk. He turned his hand under yours, interlacing your fingers. The back of his hand brushed against your inner thigh. His teeth touched your shoulder in a light, teasing bite. “On what exactly you’ll let me get away with.”

You jumped as Rhodey suddenly cleared his throat pointedly, and Natasha burst into laughter beside him.

You snatched your hand away from Clint’s, bumping your head on the ceiling as you jerked upright. Sam’s eyes shot to the rearview mirror; an eyebrow raised at you. You could feel your face burning, and Clint snickered, head falling back against his headrest.

“You’re the most patient man alive, Colonel Rhodes.” Natasha told him as the car came to a stop at the gates of the compound. Sam leaned over the driver to speak out the window to FRIDAY, and you could hear the amusement in his voice. “I can’t even hear them, and I was ready to throw a bucket of cold water on them.”

“I couldn’t either,” Rhodey admitted wryly, his expression tired. “But I was having flashbacks to Tony’s playboy years and I’m not going through that again.”

You grimaced in embarrassment, leaning over to press a quick kiss to Rhodey’s cheek by way of an apology as the car came to a stop in front of the main building. He waved you off in amusement, and thanked Cole for the ride before you climbed out of the car, straightening your dress hastily. You toed off your heels right there on the pavement; tired of the ache in the arches of your feet.

You heard Rhodey curse, and you laughed as you saw Clint trying to plant a kiss on his cheek too. He shoved the archer away in exasperation, and Clint giggled as he clambered out of the car after you. His hand found your backside as you bent down to pick up your shoes, and you rolled your eyes at him as you straightened, turning to face him as the car pulled away.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Barton.”

He grinned widely, winking down at you. You shook your head with a smile, teeth touching your bottom lip and your arms folded over your chest. Sam wolf-whistled loudly, jerking your gaze away from Clint. Sam blew you both a kiss as he turned to follow Rhodey inside.

“Not a word, Wilson!” you called after him, and he laughed boisterously, the sound echoing off the lobby floor and walls.

Natasha fixed you both with a knowing smirk, eyes sparkling in the low light. She tucked her hands behind her back, walking slowly backwards towards the entrance. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Y/N.”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do?”

She winked, her voice teasingly lilting as she drew out her farewell. “Goodnight.”

You turned back to Clint hesitantly, brought back to your awkward reality now that you were alone. Clint seemed to be feeling it too, his hands tucked in his jean pockets. “You know…” he started, his lips curving in a playful smirk. “She has done _me,_ so it’s not technically off the table.”

You laughed, the tension leaving you. You leaned forward, letting him wrap his arms around you. One arm went around your waist, the other around your shoulders. You felt him press a kiss to the crown of your head, his hand coming up to smooth over your hair. You spoke into his chest. “We’re so very drunk, Clint.”

He sighed as you pulled back to meet his eyes, and he nodded. He released you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders just as he’d done outside the bar. You slid your arm around his waist again as you crossed the threshold, this time hooking your thumb into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Y’know…” he began as you came to a stop in front of the elevators, leaning forward to press the button. “…that breakfast I was talking about…”

“Don’t you dare try and weasel out of it, Barton.” you warned him, turning and poking him in the chest. “I expect pancakes. Syrup, fresh fruit. Caffeine that isn’t going to kill me. The whole she-bang.”

He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Stand down, fearless warrior. A promise is a promise. I was just thinking...”

“What?”

Clint’s hand caught hold of yours, and he pulled you to him, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek. He brought his face down to yours slowly, pausing a breath away from your lips. His eyes searched yours, the sudden seriousness in his gaze a stark contrast to the way he’d been in the car. This was more heated, more magnetic. He released your hand and took hold of your waist instead, his hand sliding around to the small of your back.

Your hands found his jacket, curling in the leather, and Clint finally closed the distance and kissed you. His lips were warm, and the kiss was surprisingly earnest, his fingers gliding into your hair, his thumb brushing over your ear. You pressed closer to him, gripping at the lapels of his coat. He broke away too soon, leaving a few fleeting kisses on your lips before he straightened again.

You rubbed your lips together, the taste of him lingering. It took you a moment for your thoughts to come back to you. “What… what were you thinking?”

He tucked hair behind your ear carefully. “What if we made it breakfast in bed?”

**Author's Note:**

> I may be tempted to continue this if it proves popular, so let me know what you think, and don't forget to leave kudos if you like it! :) I’m thinking fluff, smut and possibly whipped cream lol
> 
> Addendum: I forgot to mention this earlier, but for anyone curious, I did some googling, and the scents I used for Clint's cologne are actually ones found in the cologne that Jeremy Renner apparently wears.


End file.
